Last week, a certain publication that focuses solely on classic rock published a list of the “Top 10 Greatest Cheap Trick Songs”. The list – which named several mediocre Trick songs, excluded tons of classics, and frustratingly named their most overplayed song (“I Want You to Want Me”) as their greatest – was an outrage to my band, The Dead Girls. Personally, I was outraged enough to actually make my own list. Though I realize this will probably shake things up even more, I could not let that list be, as far as I know, the only top ten of Cheap Trick songs in existence. It excluded so many songs that for me define Cheap Trick and make them stand so far out from the pack of everyday “classic rock” bands. I felt it had to be done.

10. Hello There (In Color)

I’m probably in the minority on this, but to my ears, a good chunk of the Live at Budokan stuff is better represented on the Trick’s studio albums. I don’t feel that way about “I Want You to Want Me” (though I do like the album version), but without a doubt, the In Color version of “Hello There” is the most iconic. The way the track kicks off – with the quick scratches from Tom Petersson’s bass, and the frustrated shout of “Hey!” that cues one of the simplest and most memorable rock riffs of all time – is so immediate and relentless, the perfect summation of the brief yet steady power pop blast that In Color provides.

9. Anytime (Cheap Trick 1997)

One of the most offensive things about last week’s aforementioned list was the fact that the most recent Cheap Trick song mentioned was from Dream Police. I remember thinking “Um, guys….you do realize that they have something like 15 albums after that one, right?” In 1997, Cheap Trick made a bona fide comeback with a pummeling album of rock songs. Perhaps because it was a long-awaited return to their rock roots, it was dubbed Cheap Trick’s second self-titled album. “Anytime” is the opening track, sequenced as such to prove right away to any haters or non-believers that THE TRICK STILL HAS IT. Though the song is one of the Trick’s heavier tunes, it has all the right Trick-y ingredients, including a classic Bun E. drum pattern, slick Rick licks, and the glorious wail of Robin Zander, who somehow sounds better than ever here.

8. Southern Girls (In Color)

Every song on this list should have been a massive hit, but how did massive hit status elude “Southern Girls”? It makes absolutely no sense. In Color was released in 1977, a time when simple, loveable, fist-pumping arena rock anthems were all but guaranteed a gold record. “Southern Girls” is the FUCKING DEFINITION of a great, simple, loveable, fist-pumping rock anthem. It has about 20 words, it’s not too complicated, and every second of the song is necessary. Maybe the switch from shuffle beat into a straight rock beat during the bridge throws people off. Maybe putting it as track 8 of 10 on the album forced people to overlook it. Whatever the reason, it’s a damn travesty.

7. Voices (Dream Police)

Another travesty – the fact that “The Flame” is so well known, yet hardly anyone gives props to “Voices”, the best ballad in the Cheap Trick catalog. Aside from its classic chorus and a bridge that induces shivers, the song itself is a powerful exploration of regret. It will strike a chord with anyone who has felt longing for a lost love. As with many other songs on this list, CT still busts this song out at live shows quite often. This should be a testament not only to the overall strength of the Cheap Trick catalog, but also to the undying loyalty of their fan base. (To be fair, “The Flame” wasn’t on the evil list, but I would have preferred it to “California Man”, which WAS listed.)

6. He’s a Whore (Cheap Trick 1977)

CT’s first album is widely known as one of their darker, heavier records, but its hooky power pop tunes are the ones that really get me. To all fans of the Dayton, OH indie legends Guided by Voices – Robert Pollard copped his iconic “Postal Blowfish” riff from this song. The series of 5 and 6 eighth notes bashed from Rick Nielsen’s guitar – a D chord under attack, you might say – sits on just the right part of the line between simple and obvious. Never has one chord wielded so much power. The song may be power pop gold, but the lyrics – which detail the day-to-day life of a self-admitted cretin who will “do anything for money” – are in line with the darker feel of the rest of the album. It’s a classic contrast.

5. Oh, Candy (Cheap Trick 1977)

This is the final track on the first CT album, but it was not supposed to be. Due to a pressing error, sides one and two were accidentally flipped. The first track should have been “ELO Kiddies”, and the last track, “The Ballad of TV Violence”. Makes sense, right? Instead, if you listen to the album as the jacket instructs, “Hot Love” is the opener, and that works just fine. But after I first heard “Oh, Candy”, I could not for the life of me figure out why it was the album’s final song. Not only did it sound like a fucking HIT that should not be shoved to the end of a record, but it has an abrupt ending that, to me, did not seem an appropriate end to this album. If it had been track five as originally planned, maybe some stations would have played the fucker. It has an amazing chorus that seems to elevate the entire song into something inexplicably great, while the lyrics – which detail the band’s reaction to the suicide of photographer and band friend Marshall Mintz (known as M&M, hence “Candy”) – are beautifully tragic.

4. I Can’t Take It (Next Position Please)

This song was left off the evil list, and that is completely unforgiveable. Sure, it comes from a sub-par CT album (1983’s Next Position Please), but it’s almost as if the album was created around this song. If I wrote this song, I would do whatever I could to get it out there, even if it meant writing a bunch of other second-rate tunes to group together with it. I mean, it’s not the ideal scenario, but it can’t always happen that way. This is one of the few CT tunes penned solely by Robin Zander (Rick Nielsen writes the majority of the songs), and it makes me wish he would have written more. Even for a song written and recorded in the early eighties, this one still sounds timeless – there aren’t any tinny drum machines or stupid synths or anything like that. It’s just a straight-up amazing rock song, and it features one of the Trick’s best choruses.

3. Surrender (Heaven Tonight)

Out of all the BIG Trick hits, this one is the best. It has everything a great rock and roll anthem should have, including youthful disillusionment, a soaring chorus, machine-gun snare rolls, and even a KISS reference. Also, and perhaps most importantly, it speaks to the confusion and frustration young people feel about their parents. It even deals with that moment when a person realizes that his or her parents are people just like them, who have flaws and make mistakes – but more importantly, they want to have FUN. And by the way, if a form of entertainment for your parents involves rocking out to KISS, you should consider yourself very lucky.

2. Downed (In Color)

By the time this song was released in 1977 on the In Color album, Cheap Trick had already been a band for 4 years. They spent most of that time playing multiple sets a night at local dive bars, and working their asses off to build the loyal following they now have. The frustrations and the longing for escape detailed in “Downed” seem to be coming from that place. Sure, there are a lot of potential problems laid out in the song – boys and girls, saving the world, waiting for the weekend – but they all seem to originate from that feeling of banging one’s head against the wall that comes with trying to play music for a living. Apart from that, the trajectory and buildup of this song is incredible, and gives me shivers every time.

1. Auf Wiedersehen (Heaven Tonight)

Cheap Trick has a lot of different sides to them – they can be sensitive, they can be contemplative, they can be fun, they can be angry, and it doesn’t stop there. “Auf Wiedersehen”, my all-time favorite CT song, showcases the band at their most fun AND angry. From the moment the song begins, with a guitar chord that sounds like the wing of an airplane exploding and a bass run that seems to detail the aircraft crashing to earth, to its end – with a chorus that simply makes the blood boil – this song captures everything about Cheap Trick that excites me. Furthermore, it nails almost every aspect of what a great rock song should be. There are no egregious parts to the song, nothing is unnecessary. Last but definitely not least, it features what might be the best vocal performance ever from Robin Zander, who is already the best damn vocalist alive. This song wasn’t even mentioned on the evil list, and is too often considered an afterthought. Maybe it’s the dark nature of the lyrics, which talk about hara-kiri and suicide (though most likely not in a literal sense), but the unabashed great rock and roll time the music provides gives the whole thing such a great contrast. If you still need more proof of the effectiveness of this tune, here is a little video of a couple dudes in my band (The Dead Girls) and some other friends rocking out to it before The Darkness show in KC last night. You just can’t argue with rock of this sort.

And here’s the real version…

SPRING

1. Field Music
Plumb

2. Ghosty
Ghosty

3. Nada Surf
The Stars
Are Indifferent
To Astronomy

4. Hospitality
Hospitality

5. Cheap Girls
Giant Orange

2012 started out with such a bang, the rest of the year could not live up to itself. The first three albums on the spring list represent some of the best output of their respective bands, and their re-playability is staggering. On their fourth proper album, Field Music finally discover their long sought-after balance of tunefulness and artiness. Musically, Plumb captures the ambition of Brian Wilson’s Smile without touting any sort of heavy handed concept. The Brewis brothers continue to be unmatched as far as performance, with a drum sound that rivals the best Zeppelin recordings and unprecedented guitar tricks. Quite simply, Plumb is 2012’s biggest triumph. Kansas City’s Ghosty have done something similar with their self-titled 3rd album – they have finally found the perfect mix of quirky indie pop and challenging melodies, and combined with bassist Mike Nolte’s pristine production, it is easily their masterwork. Nada Surf is still doing their thing, but they are doing it better than ever. The ten songs on their 6th album make up their most consistent collection to date. Newcomers Hospitality made one of 2012’s finest debuts, combining newfangled indie trends with the songwriting talents of 90’s artists like Juliana Hatfield. And finally, the 3rd full length from Lansing’s Cheap Girls (produced by Tom Gabel – now Laura Jane Grace – of Against Me!) was 2012’s first great testament to infectious, uncomplicated rock and roll – ten pummeling tracks of glorious G/C/D chords, all of which are carried by the exuberance of hopping off the school bus on a warm, sunny afternoon.

SUMMER

1. Zeus
Busting Visions

2. Redd Kross
Researching the Blues

3. Joyce Manor
Of All Things
I Will Soon
Grow Tired

4. Beach Boys
That’s Why God
Made the Radio

5. Here We Go
Magic
A Different Ship

The second release from retro Canadian rockers Zeus tops the Summer albums list, thanks to their complete disregard of current trends and their obvious obsession with rock music of the 60’s and 70’s. This goes beyond trying to write like their heroes – they try to record like them as well, undergoing dated and painstaking studio tricks to retrace the steps of their musical influences and achieve a glorious result. Redd Kross is the latest old school band to reunite and release an album after a prolonged period – however, they stand out from that crowd for two reasons. First, all the members were in high school when Redd Kross originally formed, so they still have plenty of vitality. Second, it shows – Researching the Blues is their best album, period. Torrance, CA’s Joyce Manor is making pop punk interesting again. Their 9-song, 13-minute release is a surprisingly multi-genre affair that feels like a playful summary of some punk geek’s record collection. The Beach Boys are still The Beach Boys, but That’s Why God Made the Radio is their first legitimately good album in 30 years. The three-song suite at the end (echoes of Smile can be heard) is proof that even if Brian Wilson is mentally charred, that legendary talent still resides within. The third full-length from NYC’s Here We Go Magic (produced by Nigel Godrich of Radiohead fame) seems understated and almost boring during initial listens. In time, however, things within this richly textured and layered album start to pop out like the Bogeyman – a satisfyingly haunting record.

FALL

1. Sun Kil Moon
Among
the Leaves

2. DIIV
Oshin

3. Blinker the
Star
We Draw Lines

4. Satin Gum
LP2

5. The Soft
Pack
Strapped

The songs on the fifth Sun Kil Moon album are uncomfortably autobiographical in nature, but if you’ve ever wanted to know what it’s really like to be a touring musician, it’s here – love letters, basement squatters, international flights, dead guitar repairmen, gloomy continents, groupies, STDs and all. As always, Mark Kozelek (formerly of Red House Painters) lays all of it out on the table without sugarcoating, and with a voice as hypnotic as ever. DIIV arguably made the year’s best debut, even though their songs are better described as 3-or-4-minute riff studies. They combine a popular indie rock sound (think Real Estate meets The Cure or Stone Roses) with a retro 90′s attitude and style that recalls Nirvana. Remember Blinker the Star? If so, it means you were into underground alt rock circa 1997. We Draw Lines, their fourth album (their debut was released almost 20 years ago), proves their search for the perfect studio sound has not been unsuccessful. Their cover of Kate Bush’s “Running Up That Hill” improves on the original in almost every sense. I can bet you have never heard of Satin Gum, and since these Pittsburgh power-poppers aren’t setting their sights higher than a few hometown shows a year and digital sales, you probably never will again. Enigmatic front man Brian Spekis gives us smart and hooky songwriting that tackles universal subject matter such as Kung Fu, drunk dialing, and Sasquatch hunting. On their sophomore album, San Diego’s The Soft Pack abandon their garage rock tendencies and instead utilize copious dance beats and saxophones. While not as consistent as the debut, Strapped still boasts plenty of hits.

WINTER

1. Tame Impala
Lonerism

2. Ty Segall
Twins

3. Guided by
Voices
The Bears
for Lunch

4. A.C. Newman
Shut Down
the Streets

5. Father John
Misty
Fear Fun

Though it was released in early 2012, I didn’t make time for Lonerism until I finally bought it in November. I’m glad, since the sequence of the double vinyl makes for a better listening experience. The songs seem complex but are actually pretty minimalistic, an effect aided by the fact that as a recording project, Tame Impala is basically one dude, the very talented Kevin Parker. Similarly, Ty Segall performs the bulk of what can be heard on Twins, and only after repeated listening do the 60’s-styled psych jams reveal themselves to be much more than what appears on the surface. Like Segall, Guided by Voices released three albums in 2012. The first two were wildly inconsistent, but The Bears for Lunch holds up among their best work without treading water in their celebrated past, and features more Tobin Sprout songs per capita than any previous GBV release. Thanks to his subtle hooks and occasionally obtuse melodies, the songs of A.C. Newman usually take a while to sink in. Once they do, though, there is no getting over them, and Shut Down the Streets is no exception. Fear Fun by Father John Misty is another one of those albums released early in the year that fell through the cracks for me until these final months, and it’s a perfect winter record. FJM’s enigmatic charm lies in his blending of Elliott Smith-caliber melodic precision and Dylan-esque delivery, a much-needed evolution of the singer-songwriter formula.

RGH’S BEST ALBUM OF 2012
Field Music
Plumb

As a musician, I know how enormous and daunting of a task it is to record an album. Rehearsing, memorizing, multi-tracking, hitting the right notes, trying to capture what was in your brain and somehow cement it forever to celluloid (or RAM, or whatever) – and that’s just you figuring your own shit out. Next, you’ll have to coordinate your ideas with others, and it may not gel. The Brewis brothers, the two-man force that is Field Music, laugh in the face of all of this. Not to trivialize their brilliance – there is no way you could nonchalantly make an album like Plumb. It’s just that everything about what Field Music does is so precise, so crafty, and done with such a stream of consciousness, it feels as if the whole process was effortless. In fact, it’s a sort of music that only brothers could make together, one whose nucleus must have originated in early childhood, extended into an awkward and imaginative adolescence, and has now finally found the light at the end of its own tunnel in an adulthood resigned to ambiguity. The longing of songs like “From Hide and Seek to Heartache” (one of the best songs of the year) and “Sorry Again, Mate” suggest a restlessness with everything except creating, and the overall pastiche feel of Plumb is a testament to how much creating these brothers actually do. So many wonderful little ideas are strung together throughout this record, it’s only more of a wonder to think how many didn’t make the final cut, and whether or not we will ever hear those ideas at all. But it’s not a problem either way, as Field Music’s well won’t be running dry any time soon.

HONORABLE MENTIONS

White Fence Family Perfume
Alabama Shakes Boys and Girls
Neil Young and Crazy Horse Psychedelic Pill
Ty Segall and White Fence Hair
Titus Andronicus Local Business
Cardinal Hymns
Motion City Soundtrack Go
Jaill Traps
Lee Ranaldo Between the Times and the Tides
Guided By Voices Let’s Go Eat the Factory
John K. Samson Provincial
California Wives Art History
Jack White Blunderbuss
Ty Segall Band Slaughterhouse
Bahamas Barchords
Nude Beach II
Bad Books II
Bob Mould Silver Age
Ladyhawk No Can Do
Torche Harmonicraft

2012 Capitol Records

Most of the interactions I have had with people concerning That’s Why God Made the Radio (the 30th studio album from The Beach Boys and the first in 20 years to contain original material) have been carbon copies of the one I had with the guy working the record store where I purchased the album. He seemed to be surprised that a new Beach Boys record would be worth buying at all. “I just assumed it would be really bad,” he said. “I mean, that’s usually the case in situations like this, right?” Of course, he meant situations in which a band already older than your parents reunites after a 20 year absence to make new music. He’s right – very rarely does this kind of experiment produce quality material. Usually, it only serves to solidify the geezer status of the people involved, and considering people have thought of The Beach Boys as geezers for quite some time, the end result could potentially be even worse for them.

Or could it? When you think about it, The Beach Boys have been seen as geezers for ages. After being at the bottom of the cool pile for so long, isn’t up the only way left to go? A few years back, head Beach Boy Brian Wilson experienced a career milestone when he finally completed and released SMiLE, which up to that point had become the most anticipated unreleased album in history. It was supposed to be the BB’s follow-up to their 1966 classic (though at the time, underrated) Pet Sounds, but the music of SMiLE caused a legendary rift within the group that eventually led to not only the shelving of the project, but the deterioration of Wilson’s mental health. Without SMiLE to prove the band’s innovative worth, the music of The Beach Boys gradually became less and less cool, and eventually all but irrelevant to many.

When Wilson finally pulled together and released the completed version of SMiLE in 2004, it was to universal acclaim from critics and fans, proving to everyone that Wilson was still an active genius. It probably proved this to Wilson himself, as well, as it seemingly reinvigorated his fire for The Beach Boys. If you really need proof of this, grow a pair and pick up That’s Why God Made the Radio, the best Beach Boys album in nearly 40 years.

If there is one thing the Beach Boys have gained after making music together for so many years, it’s perspective, which seems to be an overall theme of this album. All the members have had decades to feel and witness their influence on popular music, giving them a chance to see firsthand what has really stuck with people out of all the different stylistic shifts they have made. Furthermore, they have finally learned the art of compromise, and have successfully married the best aspects of the old-school surf nostalgia of their early work with the psychedelic suite-style compositions of their SMiLE/post-SMiLE era. The album’s first two singles (the title track and “Isn’t It Time”) feel right at home with the closing 3-song suite (“From There to Back Again”, “Pacific Coast Highway” and “Summer’s Gone”), and it’s enough to make one wonder if all that infighting so long ago about the stylistic direction of the Beach Boys was necessary. If the guys could have just grown up a bit initially, who knows what would have happened.

With that said, I’m not sure I would want to change their history that much. Aside from being one of rock’s most interesting, gut-wrenching and inspiring stories, The Beach Boys legacy is one of the most rewarding in rock music, and these guys know it. Much of the new album carries a joyous, celebratory vibe, with many of the songs directly referencing the group’s elation about their reunion. “Spring vacation, good vibrations, summer weather, we’re back together,” the group sings in “Spring Vacation”; while in the title track, they are “Spreading the love and sunshine to a whole new generation”. While these are seemingly simple messages, they also work on several levels. To anyone not familiar with the group’s past, these could just be simple love songs about love of music, or the love of another person, or the love of the world around us.

One unfortunate aspect of the record is its overproduced sound, but no one can blame Wilson for this. He’s a guy who cut his teeth on record-making back in the 60’s, when undergoing painstaking processes to achieve the perfect sound was the norm. After how fast technology has grown even over the last 5 years, using these same processes with today’s available technology produces a sound that is almost too great. If Wilson had chosen to use some outdated recording equipment or to simplify his technique a bit, he could have produced something a bit more organic-sounding. But with how solid the songs on Radio tend to be, this seems like nit-picking. Aside from a couple blah songs on the record (the ones written by Love), it’s difficult to find something to complain about.

Though the definite highlight of Radio is the 3-song suite that closes the album, one of the other standout tracks is “Strange World”, a song that could produce a slightly emotional reaction for any fan aware of Wilson’s past endeavors. “It’s a strange world, I’m gettin’ though it,” Wilson sings with a vigor not heard from him in decades. Though Wilson may be back and in better shape than he has been in recent memory, he’s acutely aware that his battles with his demons are far from over. In fact, that part of his life will probably never end. Surely, we can all relate – we all have some sort of adversity to face every morning when we choose to get out of bed and continue on with our lives. More often than not, we choose to go through with it, because the only other option would be to look our demons square in the face and say, “I give up.” The fact that 70-year-old Wilson and all the other Beach Boys are still not willing to fold after achieving so much in their careers could be seen as stubborn in the light of a lesser work. But in the spotlight of That’s Why God Made the Radio, the steadfastness of The Beach Boys comes off as awe-inspiring. ****

2012 Asian Man Records

Recently, I posted this article in which I was not shy about my opinions toward modern music and its current state of affairs. I wrote it very quickly and posted it right away so I wouldn’t have time to think too much about it. I guess it is good news, then, that even as I read it now, there isn’t a whole lot I would change. Much of it consists of thoughts and feelings I have been having about the industry for years. For a while, I was worried that posting this stuff may give some people the wrong idea about me. Maybe it has – I do sound pretty bitter.

Soon after I posted this article, I saw a random Facebook post from Wake Mitchell, a musician and DJ well known to the Lawrence, KS scene. He periodically posts songs that he finds great and inspiring, along with these motivational messages of sorts. I see one almost every day, but this quote hit me just the right way right after I posted my article/rant. It seemed too perfect.

“Those who choose to work hard and strive for internal excellence inevitably experience stints of overwhelming pain and uncertainty. If you’ve ever felt such before, you’re on a beautiful path, for you are alive and conscious of all around (and within) you!”

After I read this, I felt better. I left work and began my commute back to Lawrence. It was Friday and it just felt awesome that the weekend was finally here, and whenever I feel like that, there’s nothing like some good, loud music for the drive home. I threw on a record that I’ve been listening to somewhat obsessively lately, a 9-song, 13-minute punk album called Of All Things I Will Soon Grow Tired by Torrance, CA’s Joyce Manor.

When I first listened to this album, I immediately noticed two things about Joyce Manor. First of all, they do some pop-punk things that I would usually find annoying or even unbearable coming from most bands, like the whiny/scream vocals, for example. Secondly, and contrary to my first observation, they somehow sounded like a band that knew their stuff, like the members had been playing in other bands for a long time. One of the first clues to this was the fact that they are a DIY punk band, but the recording sounds wonderful – not immaculate, but crisp, heavy and well-executed. This is not something you normally see from a DIY band full of new aspiring rockers. Also, these extremely short songs are quite complex, and the band has a knack for cramming in lots of ideas without making them boil over with busy bullshit.

Opening track “These Kind of Ice Skates” sets this tone perfectly. In almost under a minute, we get a verse, pre-chorus, chorus, a bridge, and then it’s over. (I guess if you don’t repeat a part, you can’t really call it a chorus, but that’s just how I break it down.) The next track “Comfortable Clothes” continues in that same vein, only more frenetic, catchier, and even shorter. Then, all of a sudden, the band switches gears to “See How Tame I Can Be”, a sort of lo-fi electro-dance tune with low and bubbly synths peppered with out-of-tune guitars. The album’s title comes from the lyrics of this song, and it totally makes sense. At this point, it starts to feel like one of those intimate live shows with a small crowd in which the band just starts to fuck around and have fun – they kick it off with two songs that represent the Joyce Manor people know and love, and follow them up with “Tame” and “Drainage”, a minute-long home-recorded acoustic track that is unlike anything else the band has done.

When their cover of “Video Killed the Radio Star” came on during my aforementioned drive home, it made me think of the article I had written, and it dawned on me that this cover was basically Joyce Manor’s version of that article. In looking past the specific words of the title into the greater meaning of the song, Joyce Manor have re-activated the tune as an anthem for people (mainly musicians) striving to deal with the changing times. Just like the radio stars or silent movie stars of the old days had to adjust their lives and personal expectations with the growth of technology, so we are still doing today, albeit at a much more incendiary pace. (They could have called it “Internet Killed the Video Star”, but that just would have been cheesy.) The best part of the cover, though, is that it holds up to the original incredibly well, while still sounding like a Joyce Manor song. The band re-appropriates it to their sound and personality so well I didn’t even notice it was a cover until the chorus popped up.

Of course, the remainder of the album flies by in a blink, but that doesn’t make it any less great. “If I Needed You There” is probably the most cookie-cutter pop-punk tune of the bunch, but still manages to get in some original and unexpected hooks, like the surprisingly poppy keyboard parts in the chorus. “Bride of Usher” cops a bass line from the Cure’s “Close to Me” and turns it into a dance-punk rave up, and “Violent World” has all the proper ingredients of a bona fide punk anthem compressed into a minute and a half. “I’m Always Tired”, a 45-second acoustic demo which sounds like it was recorded on boom box, closes the album with an unexpected lo-fi jolt. The whole thing is over so fast it feels unfinished, but the positive here is that the songs are so good, you’ll find it difficult to not just start the record over again and give it another spin. Even after playing this whole record twice, you’ve still taken less time out of your life than you would listening to a New Found Glory or Blink-182 album, and for too many reasons to count, Joyce Manor is infinitely more interesting. ***1/2

Secondly, I won’t apologize because I have been incredibly busy doing what I love most in life – music. I spent my entire summer playing in various bands, and for some of those said bands, working on new recordings. I really can’t believe that at this point, 4 different recording projects are either in the works or have already been released. I play drums for a band out of KC called Hidden Pictures, and we just released a new record at the end of July. My main project, The Dead Girls, is awaiting the first round of mixes for our third album, which we hope to have out by fall (but probably won’t get out until spring 2013). I am also in two other bands (a punk band called Stiff Middle Fingers, and a prog/pop band called Many Moods of Dad), both of which are in the finishing stages of recording right now.

Aside from playing all these shows and helping write and record all this material, one of the main things that kept me busy was booking all of the shows for these bands. I don’t book for Hidden Pictures, but in every other case, I am the guy. Now I don’t want to sound bitter or anything, but me and the guys in all these bands have been playing in and around Lawrence/KC for going on 12 years now, and I have found that we still can’t get a show that is worth a shit unless we book and promote the fucker ourselves. A lot of other bands do well because they have strong friendship ties to the local scene, but we don’t. Sure, we have friends in that arena, but our best friends are still the people we grew up with and planted our roots against. We aren’t true Lawrence townies or kiss-asses or fake people, so we are automatically at a disadvantage. So this summer, I made the decision to never, EVER expect anyone to do anything for me EVER again. If we want a good show, we’re going to BOOK a good show, and not just wait around for someone to give us one. If we want to put out and promote an album, we will do it OURSELVES, because no one else cares enough about what we are doing to help us out all that much.

“But if no one cares, then why are you doing it?” someone will inevitably ask. They are missing the point. The point is WE love it. That’s why we do it. That’s what keeps us together for almost 10 years, while other hyped-up bands come and go and fall apart in a matter of months or a couple years. They are doing it for the wrong reasons, we are not.

Basically, this preface is supposed to serve the notion that I am tired of the hype machine. Moreover, I am tired of machines in general. I am tired of the idea that everything must be cranked out for mass consumption. I want to make music I would LIKE to listen to, and I’m going to stick with that because it comes naturally to me and there should be no reason for me to question that. Granted, it keeps me so busy that sometimes I can’t do some things that I love, like keep up with R.G.H. One day, hopefully, I will be able to figure out within myself how to do all of this stuff while still finding some time to relax to keep me from going completely bonkers.

Mmmm, I just got a craving for Bonkers! Remember that candy, those little Starburst-y rectangles with fruit flavors inside? Anyone? Damn, that shit is old now. I AM OLD. Sure, I’m only 30, but that’s old to a lot of people. I’m running out of time and energy, so I may as well just accept that old-person’s attitude of “Who gives a fuck?” and just do the stuff that makes me happy. It’s kinda shitty that what makes me the most happy also has the ability to frustrate me to no end, but I guess that’s all part of the jadedness; and granted, I could have prevented myself from becoming so jaded if I had been more of an asshole to begin with. But it’s kind of a letdown when you are in a scene that talks the talk (“Our scene should be a musical community that we can all be a part of”, etc. etc.) but very rarely walks the walk, or at least for The Dead Girls. Unlike most Lawrence/KC bands, our music has hardly any pretense. We don’t lead anyone to believe that our music writing is the result of some kind of “special power” or anything. We make music for people to absorb, rather than music that is made to go over the listener’s head to make them feel below it, thus leading them to believe it exists on some kind of special plane that needs to be attained to be understood. That’s like, THE indie thing now, and I’m so tired of it. I long for the days when music kicked you in the face, rather than the music of the now, which putters about over your head in a teasing fashion.

It sucks to feel more or less ostracized from a scene you have helped to build for many years, but I guess that is the fate of the power pop band – to go underappreciated. Plus, what the fuck do I expect? I live in Kansas. It’s not like I’m trying to do this shit in New York or LA, places where I actually could have some kind of opportunity to further a musical career. I have nothing to complain about – I am here of my own volition. In reality, I just feel suffocated here. I feel like there are no real opportunities for a songwriter of my style and nature. Lawrence, KS only seems to give a fuck about either side of the extreme. No one gives a shit about your band unless you are a raw, ear-shredding garage rock band that puts no thought into their tunes and releases shitty-sounding recordings, or a totally pretentious electronica-influenced indie band that puts WAY too much thought into their tunes and acts like they have been touched by Jesus. There is no room for any sort of middle ground. And you know, maybe I am just completely delusional and The Dead Girls are actually a really shitty band – I’ve heard it said a few times over the years – but I don’t think that’s the case. I think we do what we do, they do what they do, and those things just don’t really jive all that well.

After living in Lawrence for 12 years and being pushed to the sidelines for so long, I only have a few real options. Option A: I can stay in Lawrence and keep doing what I have been doing, with no real hope of advancement. B: I can move somewhere else and start over, which is horribly scary, but also might be the only way I can feasibly keep doing music as regularly as I want to. C: I can give up music altogether and either stay in Lawrence or move somewhere else, and leave the bullshit behind. I don’t want to do option C, because I truly believe that a certain amount of bullshit comes with EVERYTHING, ESPECIALLY something worked on for so long. To choose option C would be to completely disregard that fact, and I KNOW I am not THAT delusional. At this point, option B, though the scariest, is probably the best choice. I feel like I have worked on this stuff too long and too hard to completely give up and throw everything out like scraps to wolves, and as much as I love Lawrence, I don’t want to feel like I am stuck here in 5 or 10 years. I also don’t want to leave all my best friends who I have been making music with for 15+ years, or to anyone else I have come to know and love in Lawrence in my 12 year stay here. But the fact of the matter is I have lived in Kansas my entire life; I need to see some new places, do some new things, meet some new people, and ROCK with some new people before it’s too late. I want to have that opportunity, and even though I am 30 years old, I’m pretty sure there is still time left to do that.

To be honest, though, I have NO IDEA what I am going to do. I know I’ll be here for at least another year, but I have been saying that for a while. I’ve become pretty used to putting my foot in my mouth, so at this point, I’m just going to say things as they come and deal with them later.

Capitol 1970

“Strawberry Wine” (from Stage Fright) reminds me of the theme song for the hit 90’s TV sitcom Blossom. There is something inherently wrong with this, but it’s not my fault – no one has control over when they are brought into this world. I happened to hear the Blossom theme before “Strawberry Wine”, and I will never be able to reverse it. It’s a tragedy of epic proportions.

Just knowing that stupid theme song was probably spawned by The Band in some way makes me very irritated. It’s like when Phil Collins says his main influence is the Beatles – The Beatles will always be my favorite band, but I’ll always be a little irritated with them for getting so big as to spawn horrible shite like Phil Collins. Is it the wrong way of looking at things? Probably, but it still bugs me.

Both Stage Fright and Cahoots contain good – sometimes great – material, but both also suffer from the after pressure of the two classic albums that preceded them. No band, not even one as amazing as The Band, could ever live up to an album as good as either one of those right away – and the fact that there were two of them in a row likely made it even more difficult. Add to this all the personal and inner-band turmoil of the members, and what we had was a group of extremely talented musicians whose inspiration was waning.

The Band’s best songwriter, Richard Manuel, takes a noticeable artistic absence on these albums. More than all of The Band’s members, Manuel’s troubles with drugs and alcohol have come to define his artistic role in the group. Die-hard Band fans can’t talk about Manuel for more than a couple minutes without mentioning the “pain and sorrow” in his vocals, or the “yearning and longing” in his performances. Sure, they are talking about a great performer, but what they are really alluding to is the drugs. After all, this sort of lifestyle has been romanticized to the point that music fans almost associate drug addiction as a form of sacrifice the performer makes for his audience. In the case of Manuel, he not only sacrificed his health, but his motivation, ambition and imagination.

Capitol 1971

This era also marked the point when the Band started to become primarily an outlet for Robbie Robertson, and as he saw his band mates being overcome by addiction and personal problems, he took the lead in an almost dictatorial fashion. While this isn’t necessarily a bad thing, as Robertson is without question a gifted songwriter, it changed the dynamic of The Band in that it made them, well, LESS of a band.

“Life is a Carnival” and “4% Pantomime” (both from Cahoots, the latter of which was co-written with Van Morrison) are top-notch representations of the Band, as is their best Bob Dylan cover “When I Paint My Masterpiece”. But so much of the other material on Stage Fright and Cahoots sounds somewhat inconsequential when held up to the steadfastness of the first two records.

Stage Fright ***
Cahoots ***

Listening again? Yes.

I’m totally going to hell for this.

Capitol 1969

Just pretend for one moment that you have never heard of The Band. Erase all the history you have come to learn about them as a music fan, and entertain the idea that they never existed, just for one moment. Or, think back to the time when you first heard the name. What was your reaction to hearing about a band called The Band? For me, I think it was a mixed bag of “Wow, these guys are really lazy” and “Wow, these guys are really cocky.” The latter may have been true, but the former could not be further from it. If there was ever a band that deserved such a simple yet high-status moniker reflective of the indescribable hard work and marrying of minds required to bring the individual ideas of a bunch of people together into a tangible whole, it was these guys.

By the time of the release of The Band, their second and best album, real music lovers everywhere suddenly realized what their name meant – they were The Band. For years, the five members honed their group chemistry to the point where other musicians couldn’t touch them. Then, after years of touring and perfecting their craft with Bob Dylan front and center, they learned from the best how to really write a song. The Band not only had all their bases covered, but they were loaded with the most well rounded players in the business. History notates The Band finding their true creative voice during The Basement Tapes sessions, which consisted of months of recording with Bob Dylan following his motorcycle accident. Though they mostly recorded Dylan originals, The Band also began writing and recording their own songs. Their unmistakable chemistry was strengthened even more in the process of re-interpreting and re-arranging some American standards with Dylan, which helped to usher in a completely new genre combining the sensibilities of folk, blues, rock and R&B, now known as Americana.

After listening to The Band pretty obsessively for the past month, I’ve found there is not much more to want of their self-titled album. One of only two albums in the original lineup’s catalog to feature all original tunes (the other would be their next, Stage Fright), it presents The Band at a moment in time when everything was happening for these guys. There is a simultaneous confidence and nonchalant quality to this record, and after listening to it a few times, it’s easy to think The Band could have done anything and it would have been great. The album is not overwrought or overproduced in any way, but it’s certainly not sloppy – it’s that happy medium that all bands hope to find. Robbie Robertson and Richard Manuel are the resident songwriting dream team, both with earthy voices that ooze booze and pained longing. Multi-instrumentalists Levon Helm and Rick Danko (who both sang and wrote occasionally) had that sought-after ability to fill out the sound of a song to perfection with nearly any instrument they touched, and were a perfect rhythm section to boot. Last but certainly not least, Garth Hudson – perhaps my favorite Band member – could transform the most basic of tunes into an ethereal, other-worldly wonder with just a few strokes of the keys.

Over the years, Robertson has become “the villain”, thanks to his repeated rebuffs to The Band’s surviving members who have sued him numerous times for royalties over the years – and you know, I would probably be more annoyed with Robertson if I knew more of The Band’s back story. It seems out of all the members, though, Robertson had his shit together better than anyone. He was not as tempted or affected by drug use, and it seems he kept The Band’s ship tighter than it would have been otherwise. Plus, he is a wonderful songwriter, and the bulk of material on The Band is credited to him. They were also the perfect vehicle for Helm’s voice, a superb mix of boogin and seasoned pro, most notably on “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down” and “Rag Mama Rag”.

Despite Robertson’s assured leading, the songs and vocal performances of his partner Manuel are the definite highlights of the album. “When You Awake” is an unusual but beautiful mix of dark and light, and it acts as a sort of companion piece to what may be The Band’s best song (and definitely Manuel’s), “Whispering Pines”. When fans of The Band speak of Manuel, they rarely fail to mention two things: His battles with drug and alcohol addiction, and the emotional pain he seems to be bearing in most of his vocal performances. Listening to “Whispering Pines”, it’s easy to tell why many people speak of the latter. Manuel’s moan lurches through with restless abondon over slow, smoldering chord changes reminiscent of a Procol Harum progression stood upon its head, and nearly every moment of melodic resolve is forgone for a new cavernous passage. As Manuel floats along these forked roads of melody, it’s almost as if we are moving deeper and deeper into the wells of a tortured human soul.

Though this and The Band’s first album are pretty close to bona fide classics, these unforgettable highs perhaps flew them a bit too close to the Sun. As their next two albums (though good) would further prove, The Band peaked early, and their remaining years would be a slow descent into inter-band conflict, untimely deaths and fogey cover band status. They would eventually reunite several times, as well as come amazingly close to recapturing the old magic on the classic live album and accompanying Martin Scorsese film The Last Waltz. Sadly, in the end, the story and trajectory of The Band never equaled the magic of their inherent musical chemistry. ****1/2

Listening again? Definitely

**Correction: Originally I said Robertson sang “Dixie” and “Rag Mama Rag”, but a very kind reader pointed out that was false and Levon Helm actually sang those. I have since made the correction.

Warner Bros 1974

Joey Molland is to Badfinger what Mike Love is to the Beach Boys – he’s the band member who, in retrospect, stifled creativity in his misguided attempts to take the reigns as leader. I should probably note that if I come off as anti-Molland sometimes, it probably has to do with my one experience meeting the man. When Joey Molland’s Badfinger (yes, it’s a thing) came to play City Park in my hometown of Manhattan, KS, I brought my vinyl copy of Wish You Were Here along for him to sign. Even though I had just read Without You: The Tragic Story of Badfinger and was aware of all his misdeeds within the band, he was one of only two surviving members at the time (he’s the only one now), so I had to take advantage. However, when I gave him my record and told him to make it out to Cameron, I was livid when I later realized he had made it out to “Kenny”. Though it irked me for a while, over time I have come to appreciate it as living proof of Molland’s legendary arrogance. It was the perfect Joey Molland experience, one I am reminded of every time I bust out my copy of this record.

As mentioned in my review of Ass, the band’s final album for the Apple label, Molland’s presence in Badfinger was not the most pleasant one. During the recording of their hit album Straight Up, Molland tried to push the band in a blues direction (rather than encouraging the Beatle-esque, power pop talents of fellow songwriters Pete Ham, Tom Evans and Mike Gibbins). Molland’s efforts became quite noticeable on Ass, and several other circumstances surrounding its recording turned out to be the beginning of a very dark period for Badfinger. One clear positive did come from the experience, though – the addition of Chris Thomas as the band’s producer. Brought in as a first-timer after Todd Rundgren left the Ass sessions, Thomas’ willingness to develop ideas with the band rather than for them was exactly what Badfinger needed. Thomas saw the classic lineup through to their untimely end, and in that time produced their finest and most bittersweet record, Wish You Were Here.

From the first crack of the strings in album opener “Just a Chance”, Badfinger sounds like a band back with a vengeance and a purpose. After being plagued by bad luck and bad decisions for the previous few years, Wish You Were Here was clearly the band’s attempt to be taken seriously again. Thomas himself stated that when he and the band began the sessions, one of the first things they decided was to make the best record they possibly could. They took up shop on a secluded ranch for several weeks, and began to work their asses off. One of the best aspects of having Thomas as producer was his ear for great tunes. Since he came in a bit late on the Ass project, Thomas didn’t have much say about song selection. But the following two albums contain more Pete Ham and Tom Evans tunes (though Wish You Were Here includes only one by Evans), which is in stark contrast to Ass and its Molland-heavy track selection. The band had been somewhat resistant to Molland’s wishes to make Badfinger a blues band, but no one came into direct contention with him about it until Thomas stepped in. If it had not been for Thomas, the world may have received two or three more versions of Ass instead of this classic fare.

Granted, Thomas pushed Molland into greatness, as well. Molland’s songs on Wish You Were Here are the best he ever penned. The anti-rock anthem “Got to Get Out of Here” is easily his best song in the Badfinger canon – not only does it paint a vivid picture of his disillusion with the rock lifestyle at the time, but its sentiments of alienation and crushed ideals are universally felt by anyone who eventually has to face the real world. Furthermore, the album’s two medleys (“In the Meantime/Some Other Time” and “Meanwhile Back at the Ranch/Should I Smoke”) both contain incredible song fragments written by Molland (the first half of the former by Gibbins, the first half of the latter by Ham). The medleys were born out of necessity, as Thomas and the band realized they did not have quite enough material to fill a full-length album. At Thomas’ suggestion, four incomplete song fragments were bunched into two medleys, and the result is pure brilliance. Sure, this practice was probably another Beatles-influenced move, but Thomas and Badfinger somehow took this idea and made it all their own. “Meanwhile” especially has a riveting mix of raunchy guitar and melodic wonder, giving Wish You Were Here its much-needed iconic final track.

Indeed, the album’s greatest treasures lie in the songs and performances of Pete Ham. After almost being relegated to side-man status by the overbearing Molland, the sweet-natured Ham began to fill the role of chief songwriter (and rightly so) after Thomas took over as producer. It’s hard to be sure whether it was Thomas who encouraged Ham, or if Ham just got fed up of being forced to play white blues jams. For whatever reason, a burgeoning confidence in Ham’s approach became apparent in the recordings following Ass, and reached its exhilarating peak with his contributions to Wish You Were Here. Specifically, “Dennis” is one of the greatest songs ever laid to tape. Written for his wife’s son Blair (the name Dennis being a reference to Dennis the Menace), it’s a journey through the realizations of childhood as seen through the eyes of an adult who has already experienced them. The tone of the music shifts with every lyrical change in mood, as if it’s all part of some multi-faceted amusement park ride that ends with a deflation of the spirit known as aging. Still, the final words of “Dennis” (“There’s a way through / There’s a way to take away blue”) offer a much needed jolt of hope into the pre-adolescent experience.

Ham never failed to leave his heart out for the taking with every song he sang, and his work on Wish You Were Here not only proves that claim, but takes it to a whole new level. Tragically, this would be the last Badfinger album to be released during his lifetime, and it only spent seven weeks on record store shelves. Right after the album’s release, Warner Bros. filed a lawsuit against Badfinger’s management, claiming $100,000 was missing from an escrow account. Band manager Stan Polley always seemed shady, and in the past, the band had speculated he was being dishonest about how Badfinger’s funds were being used. With this incident, the band was finally certain of Polley’s indiscretions, but it was already too late. Even though Wish You Were Here had already charted at the time and seemed to potentially be the next break the band had prayed for, the lawsuit prompted Warner Bros. to freeze all of Badfinger’s funds and pull their records from stores. Even after all this, thanks to the 3-year/6-album contract the band signed with Warner Bros., Badfinger had to head directly back into the studio, completely dejected, to record a follow-up album (Head First, which was not released until 2000). This was Badfinger’s worst stroke of bad luck yet, and for Ham, it was Earth-shattering. Less than a year after the release of Wish You Were Here, he would take his own life, leaving behind a suicide note containing these drunkenly scrawled words: “Stan Polley is a soulless bastard. I will take him with me.”

Had Wish You Were Here not been surrounded with the fog of Badfinger’s horrible luck, it could have easily been a hit record. All four of the group’s songwriters are represented here at their indisputable best, and if it truly was the band’s goal to make the best album they could, it seems the exceeded even their own expectations. Though disturbing, the circumstances surrounding the album make it an enduring example of just how badly things can go awry in the music business. The members of Badfinger were young and didn’t know any better, but bands these days cannot be that way and survive. For those still trying to rock, the story of Badfinger is a scary one, passed around like parents telling their children of the Bogeyman. But despite all the negative history, Wish You Were Here remains a glorious record from front to back, as well as an inspiring example of how far we humans can go once we set ourselves on a particular course. *****

Note: Badfinger’s story is too complex to cover in an album review, but it is also required reading for anyone interested in pursuing any sort of entertainment career. Dan Matovina’s biography Without You: The Tragic Story of Badfinger comes highly recommended from RGH. Please reference this to expand on anything mentioned in the above review.

Listening Again? Regularly

Apple 1973

The whole point of rock and roll may be to have fun, but this pretense often overshadows the very real dangers of the music business. The majority of people who “make it” in the rock world are very young and that’s always been the norm, but there are several reasons for this. The obvious one, and the one most people think about, is the fact that the young and fresh-faced are generally the people others will pay the most money to see. Youth is an attractive force – when we are in our youth, we want to be around more of it; when we are old, we struggle to reclaim it. But there is a darker side to the allure of youth in rock. Without a good amount of dumb, young souls to mislead and misuse, many in the music business would have very limited resources. Badfinger (one of the best, most fucked-over bands in history) were exploited and flat out robbed from day one, and the main thing that kept them from doing anything about it was the same sort of blind trust that has always led young people into dangerous situations.

For example, I am in an 8-yr old independent rock band, and at least once every couple months, I get a call or an email from some young upstart who says his “company” is interested in helping my band “get our music out to more people”. They always say something like, “For a reasonable flat rate of $449, we can put your band on a sampler CD that will be distributed to our long list of contacts”. I always hear them out until they finish and ask me, “Do you have any questions?” Of course, my question is always “How much will it cost us?” They leave this part out in hopes that I’ll be too excited about this potentially huge opportunity to ask or even care about money, because in reality, impulsive decisions by rockers who don’t know any better probably account for more than 75% of their income. Even after so many have seen a fate similar to (though not nearly as tragic as) Badfinger, would-be rockers everywhere are still desperate enough to jump at every single phone call or email expressing even an ounce of interest in their band. To be successful in the music business today, the first thing you have to realize is this – no one likes your band enough to want to help you for free. If you get a call or email like this, it means one of two things: You are already very successful, they have noticed, and they want to cut in on your action; or it is obvious to them that you are a young, inexperienced band whose desperation could allow them to take you for hundreds of dollars, which would help further their operation for a few more weeks.

Badfinger had the rare distinction of being a young, green band that scored four consecutive worldwide hits very early in their career. This combination, though seemingly ideal, turned out to be devastating for the group. While most bands dream of being mentored by or recording with their favorite bands, Badfinger’s semi-close connection with The Beatles ended up hurting them as much or maybe more than it helped them. Aside from the fact that critics wasted no time drawing mean-spirited comparisons between the two groups, Badfinger’s bosses were also their heroes, which in many ways kept the band from asking those important questions or further developing themselves into a legitimate business. By the time of the release of Ass, their fourth album for Apple, the band felt they had been misled by their label over the years, a sentiment hilariously depicted on the album cover in the form of a donkey pursuing a giant carrot. The album turned out to be very aptly named, as Ass also marked the moment in time when things really started to go to shit for Badfinger.

Let’s draw up a little outline of the Ass experience, shall we? Band’s previous album garners two major hits. Label wants another album immediately. Band goes in to record next album with same producer, but producer leaves project after four days because of disagreements with band. Band tries to produce rest of album themselves – end product is unlistenable and rejected by label. Producer #2 is brought in to finish the project, but process has already delayed release by at least a year. Publishing disputes based on songwriting credits delay release even further. Release dates for USA and Europe are three-and-a-half months apart. By the time album is released in Europe, band’s home continent, band’s NEXT album is already available in stores. And thus, the shit-storm begins – the chain of events surrounding the production of Ass created problems that would haunt Badfinger in one form or another until their demise.

Along with offering an early point of foreshadowing into the band’s very bleak future, Ass was the first noticeably weak record from Badfinger’s classic lineup. It contains two amazing tunes – Pete Ham’s gorgeous and heart-wrenching “Apple of my Eye” (sort of a Dear Jane letter to their soon-to-be-ex-label), and Tom Evans’ spine-tingling ballad “When I Say” – both of which have been included on Badfinger compilations in the past. Five of the songs were written by Joey Molland, the bully of the band. It was around this time that Molland had been pressuring the others to focus on creating blues-y, jam band style songs, a direction in conflict with the melodic, Beatle-esque strengths of the other songwriters. As a result, the bulk of Ass’ track listing goes to Molland’s songs, most of which are soulless, indistinct, unoriginal, and sometimes just flat out shitty white blues jams (except “Icicles”, which is simply good). Ham and Evans were obviously stronger songwriters, and Ham’s abilities in that area would especially improve in the course of the next two albums.

In reality, six different producers worked on Ass throughout it’s recording (Todd Rundgren, the four members of Badfinger, and finally the producer they had been waiting for, Chris Thomas). This coupled with the wildly uneven (and sub-par) song selection makes the whole listening experience pretty uncomfortable. For how comical or tongue-in-cheek the title was most likely meant to be, Ass is a sadly perfect moniker. This wasn’t the death knell for Badfinger, as they put out two more albums that surpass Ass greatly. The band never recovered from all the poor business decisions, though, and despite the fact that their best material was yet to come, in the end it was just part of Badfinger’s quick downward spiral. **1/2

Note: Badfinger’s story is too complex to cover in an album review, but it is also required reading for anyone interested in pursuing any sort of entertainment career. Dan Matovina’s biography Without You: The Tragic Story of Badfinger comes highly recommended from RGH. Please reference this to expand on anything mentioned in the above review.

Listening Again? I’ll always revisit a couple songs, but the album as a whole is lacking.

Swan Song 1979

I have never been a huge fan of Bad Company, and I wasn’t really looking forward to listening to this record. As a result, I didn’t enjoy it very much. Funny how that works, isn’t it? I’m beginning to wonder why I even bothered to take it for free in the first place.

Apparently, Bad Company was a “supergroup”. (I want to make that joke – I really, really do – but we all know it.) They were made up of members of the bands Free (they had the hit “All Right Now” that’s always confused with “Free Ride”) and Mott the Hoople. This totally makes sense, since much of Bad Company’s output sounds like some second-rate, watered-down amalgam of those two bands. However, since ex-Free crooner Paul Rodgers wrote most of the tunes, the end result is always much more “All Right Now” than say, for example, “All the Way from Memphis”. What hurts the most is the realization that Rodgers is now the lead singer for Queen. The fact that anyone thinks Rodgers is a worthy replacement for Freddie Mercury is astounding and downright maddening to me.

The first song on Desolation Angels (such a horrible title) is “Rock ‘n’ Roll Fantasy”, a song I’ve always openly despised, and listening to it for myself even after realizing they were on Led Zeppelin’s record label still didn’t help me learn to like it. The sad fact is it’s probably the best song on the record, as the rest failed to leave an imprint in my already tuned-out brain. Come on, folks – Bad Company is the epitome of fraud. They are unoriginal, irrelevant, and just flat out uninteresting every single time. American Idol is more rock and roll. *1/2

Listening Again? No desire to do so.

Long live Freddie!